Mask
by Bytes
Summary: Directionless after the death of Toguro and his own crushing defeat at Hiei's hands, Bui enters into a strange pact with a human woman and finds himself learning what it is to be alive. BuixOC. Give Bui a chance. He's cooler than most.
1. Chapter 1

Mask

Chapter 01

* * *

The nurse looked down at her charge for a long time, taking in his proud features and massive frame, then checked his vitals and marked them on her diagnostic sheet. He was doing fine—weak, but fine despite the numerous cuts, bruises, and broken bones his fact sheet proclaimed him to have. Even after a long time wondering, she still couldn't decide whether the purplish mark on his forehead was a birth mark, a wound, or a tattoo.

The nurse—not for the first time—asked herself where he had come from.

Just then, the nurse in charge of the floor poked her head in the door. "You're still here, Jenny?" the older woman asked, gray hair escaping in wisps from beneath her cap.

Jenny shrugged. "It's quiet tonight."

The older nurse moved into the shadowy room, darting professional looks at the machines surrounding the sleeping man. "I'm assuming you heard who this man is?" she asked, looking sideways at Jenny as she checked the sleeping man's pulse.

Jenny shook her head, hoping against all hope that she would soon find out. "All I know is that he was brought in by private helicopter and that his work-up was paid in full." She tried not to look too interested. "Do you know anything else, Lyn?"

'Lyn' snorted. "Of course I do. I'm in charge here, aren't I?"

Jenny—having dealt with Lyn enough to know that pressing her would never help matters—stayed quiet until Lyn felt ready to begin her gossip.

"We had to ask about the nature of his wounds, of course," Lyn began, "and when they told us 'car accident', we knew they were lying. Everything's too severe!" Her thin lips twisted into a leer. "So we pressed the courier for the truth. He caved and told us that this one is a professional fighter who had lost a match in the most vicious martial arts tournament in the world."

Jenny wasn't stupid. "So I suppose the one paying for the tests and things is this fighter's sponsor, or something like that?"

Sniffing, Lyn shot Jenny a sour look. She didn't like having her thunder stolen. "Yes, exactly." She snatched the clipboard from Jenny.

"What's his name?" Jenny asked, trailing Lyn out into the hall.

"Who, the fighter or the sponsor?"

"Both, I guess."

The Lyn frowned as they walked down the hall to the nurses' station. "That's the strange thing—we have a first names for both, but not lasts."

"What are the ones we have?"

Picking up the room assignment sheet, she located the mysterious fighter's room and read aloud: "The sponsor calls himself 'Sakyo,' and the patient's name is 'Bui.' No last name, just… 'Bui.'"

"Foreign? 'Sakyo' sounds Asian, I think."

"I suppose," Lyn answered. "The names aren't like anything_ I've_ ever heard." She turned to one of the three computers at the station and said: "I have to enter this data into the system. Get back to work."

Jenny nodded, but her mind was elsewhere. Walking to one of the empty PCs, she opened up a search engine and hesitantly typed in the word 'bui.'

She shot a surreptitious glance at Lyn as she waited for the page to load, but she needn't have worried: Lyn was quite busy tapping the information into the computer one key at a time.

When Jenny looked back at the screen, she had her results—an acronym for 'boating under the influence' spelled 'bui,' but there were no hits concerning the man in the hospital bed. Feeling crestfallen, she typed 'Sakyo' into the engine and waited.

"If you're trying to look him up," Lyn said suddenly, scaring Jenny out of her wits, "there's nothing. I already checked."

Jenny blushed and exited the screen without looking at it. Sakyo could wait. "I'm going to go make my rounds," she said as she stood up. "Page me if he" –there was no need to specify who 'he' was—"wakes up."

Lyn shook her head. "That one's not waking up for days. Head trauma."

Jenny frowned. "You mean that purple mark on his face?"

"Yup."

"I thought it looked like an _old _wound."

Lyn tapped her brow with a finger. "The purple part _is _an old wound, but there's a new one on it, too—blends in so you can't see it, but it's there, all right." She cupped her hands around her mouth to make it look like she was attempting to keep a secret. "If you ask me, the new wound looks like it was made from somebody's knuckles!"

Jenny didn't say anything to that as she walked off. There were six other patients on the floor, but as she made her midnight rounds she realized that her motions were mechanical, automatic—all she could think of was Bui, and it was something of a relief to go back to his room to check on him.

Studying him, she could not help but suppress a smile. He was so tall that they had had to put an extra bed at the foot of another so he wouldn't fall off—how tall had they measured him? Somewhere around nine feet?

With a build like that, no wonder he was a fighter.

Dragging over a chair, Jenny sat down next to Bui and put a tentative hand over his colossal one. His skin was cool and slightly rough, and her hand looked like a child's compared to his.

"Hello, Bui," she said, tracing the blue veins hiding beneath his skin. "My name's Jenny. We're taking good care of you."

She studied his face for a reaction—a twitch of the lips, eyes moving under closed lids—but saw nothing. She sighed, but decided to keep talking to him. He hadn't had any visitors; maybe speaking to him would help him recover faster. It would be lonely to have no family visit. Or did he even have any family?

"I heard you lost a fight," Jenny said. "The one to beat you must have been a real monster—you look strong." But was he, really? After checking to make sure Lyn was no where nearby, Jenny lifted the blanket off of Bui and peeked underneath his hospital gown. She gasped. He had muscles galore stretched taut beneath his skin, but what had made her gasp was the abundance of scars that marred his body. Some stretched as long as her arm and looked as old as the world.

"Who could have done this to you?" she whispered, replacing the blanket and smock. "I'm so sorry—Lyn and I will do our best to keep you healthy, don't worry." She smoother the hair from Bui's forehead—it was silver and rougher than she had anticipated. Not for the first time, she studied his face and absorbed his features. He had a classic, understated handsomeness one would see only after a little concentration: a strong nose, a pronounced jaw, high cheeks, eyes rimmed with lashes. She wondered at their color, hoping it was a pale one to complement his hair and contrast his tan skin.

Realizing just how attached she was becoming to the silver-haired man, Jenny stood up and said: "Well, good bye, Bui. I'll see you later."

She walked out the door, intending to not go back to see him until absolutely necessary, but something stopped her. A low moan drifted out of the room, as did a rustle and a harsh intake of breath.

Jenny bolted back to Bui's side, elated to find him stirring at last. His lips were pressed together in a firm line, and sweat rolled off his forehead in waves.

Jenny shouted Lyn's name as she checked Bui's pulse; it beat erratically beneath his skin. "It's okay!" Jenny said, smoothing his hair and wiping the sweat from his brow. "It's okay, you're safe, Bui!"

His eyes cracked open, and Jenny was caught in a sliver of icy blue. "It's okay—" she said again, but Bui's hand had curled around her own and tightened. Jenny gasped and tried to pull him off of her, but he was too strong. Bones splintered beneath his grip, and as he pulverized her hand Jenny let out a bone-chilling scream.

Lyn entered, then, and her face turned white as she saw the blood leaking from between Bui's fingers. "Let her go!" the old woman shrieked as she wrapped her arms around Jenny's waist to tug her away.

Bui obeyed and let go, but a single slash from his hand sent Lyn's head rolling across the tile floor. Jenny and Lyn slumped to the floor in unison, Lyn dead and Jenny quickly dying from loss of blood.

Bui, heedless to the destruction he had wrought, stumbled from his bed and made his way to the room's large window. A punch sent glass shards flying. He fell out of the second-story window and into the dark night with nary a pause.

The ground rushed up to meet him, and embraced him with concrete arms.

* * *

_Well, at least I've left Bui with a few vestiges of his former ferocity. No softie-Bui for this fic, no sir. And no, he's not dead. Far from it. You'll see why he was so weird when he woke up next chapter._

_So there are only four listed fics on this site with Bui in them. Since I think Bui is absolutely wonderful, I'm going to fix this in my own small way. I'm here to write a story about an unjustly overlooked demon, and to do a reasonably good job with him._

_Give Bui a chance. He's cooler than most._

_This fic will be a character study. Lots of Bui, lots of interaction with the main OC, lots of… well, character development. So, it's a romance? I don't know._

_For those who want to know, the OC Bui is paired with will be appearing next chapter._


	2. Chapter 2

Mask

Chapter 02

* * *

It took a moment for Bui to regain consciousness and pick himself up off the concrete, but the instant he did he bolted—running as fast as he could in a random direction. He was being chased by grief.

Toguro was dead.

When Bui had woken up, he hadn't been sure where he was. After his ill-fated fight with Hiei, Bui had fallen into a deep restorative sleep, giving up the pain in his body and the anguish in his heart to the rich blackness of his unconscious. He had awoken at a later time, staring at the stark white ceiling tiles of a hospital room, and had immediately extended his awareness in search of the younger Toguro.

He had found nothing—nothing to suggest that the younger Toguro, the reason for Bui's existence, was alive.

He had realized seconds later that someone was speaking to him, and that they smelled unquestionably of human. Reacting in a blind, grieved rage, Bui had lashed out with what little power remained within him.

Blood—the very thing that Bui lived for—had fountained, and he fled. Now he half-ran, half-stumbled through a haze of lights and warm bodies. The rage that powered his murderous actions and initial flight was ebbing away like water through cupped fingers, and it was only when thunder boomed above him that Bui stopped running and tried to figure out what was going on.

The sheer humanness of the place was evident at first glance. Neon lights proclaiming a good time hung flickering off of dilapidated buildings; the streets were cluttered with trash and debris. Human women in tight clothes that showed more flesh than they covered patrolled the streets like hungry dogs. People—men, women, and whores alike—all stared at him with raised eyebrows, but no one approached him or said anything. Several people stumbled about, singing loudly with bottles clutched in drunken fists. Oddly, the majority of them were dressed fairly well.

Bui looked down at himself. Clad only in a short hospital gown, he realized what he must look like—massive by human standards, he stood out like a sore (and not to mention under dressed) thumb. Looking for a secluded area away from the more crowded streets, Bui tripped into a nearby alley where he collapsed atop a pile of black plastic bags that stank of refuse.

His strength bled from him. Lungs heaved, gasping for air, and despair overcame him. _Is this how I'm going to die? _he thought to himself._ Alone in the human world, anonymous and quietly?_ He delved inside himself, trying to call up the wellspring of power that slept within him, but it remained out of reach. Unable to use that power to invigorate his unresponsive muscles, Bui felt his body begin to grow cold.

"Hiei drained me well," he murmured as rain fell from the sky and pattered against his face. The drops felt warm compared to the cold of his body, and darkness began to blur the edges of his vision as he watched the way the light from the neon signs colored the drops like a mad painter.

Bui closed his eyes, relishing in the pure warmth of the raindrops as they fell. He hoped, as the darkness encroached upon his vision, that they would be the last thing he ever felt against his skin. Better pure rainwater than human world filth...

Had Bui been more alert, he would not have missed the sound of feet and crinkling cloth approaching him. As it were, he only realized he was no longer alone when the raindrops stopped falling.

His eyes opened to find a dark shadow above him, blocking the rain. Squinting, he made out a human contraption—what was it called, an umbrella?—clutched in a slender white hand. His eyes focused on that hand, on the way muscles and tendons stretched over bone and sinew, and became lost in it.

"Are you all right?" said a voice.

Bui didn't react, unsure of what to say. Eventually, however, he let his eyes drift up from that pale hand until they beheld its owner's face.

She was a woman—a human woman. Blond hair fell in loose curls to her chest and flowed like a cloud around expressive gray eyes. Pale skin glowed in the dim alleyway, and for a moment Bui felt confused. Was he in the afterlife already? What human could look that serene, that luminescent? Only angels looked so...

"Hey," the woman said when Bui met her eyes. "Why are you in a hospital gown? Are you okay?"

Bui struggled to sit up, and in a flash the woman dropped her umbrella to kneel at his side. Her frail arms snaked around his shoulders, supporting his massive weight even as she struggled to not get crushed. Bui shrugged her off and put his head in his hands, unsure of what to do.

"Are you hungry?" the woman asked him, hands fluttering before her like pale moths.

The question caught him by surprise, and he nodded before he could help himself. His stomach roared, as if protesting that it had been forgotten for too long.

"Come with me," she said to Bui, and she helped him to his feet. Even though he did not stand at his full height, hunched over as he was, she let out a low whistle and said: "You're a big son of a bitch, aren't you?"

Bui looked down at her. She was tall, for a human, but nowhere near as tall as him. She was also no angel, at least not the kind Bui had mistaken her for. Her language—although spoken in good humor—was far too coarse for a demigod's.

"Why?" he asked, voice harsh.

"Why what?"

"Why are you helping me?" He swayed on his feet and had to brace himself on the bricks of the building that composed the alley's wall to keep from falling to his knees.

The woman immediately saw Bui's body weakening, and she slipped herself under his shoulder and tried to support him. Once more he shrugged her off, not wanting her touch, _any _touch, but the motion caused him to overbalance and he went crashing onto the pile of trash bags.

Bui's strength left him, and he curled inward on himself in defeat. _Why struggle to live when you lack a purpose? _he thought, trying to concentrate on the rain sluicing over his skin. Why even try?

Darkness, again, began to pour over him, and he dimly registered the human woman jabbering away in her high, silvery voice. It was a beautiful voice, clear and musical and safe...

The voice followed him down, a silver river in the gloom.

* * *

Bui awoke in a bed much softer and much longer than the hospital cot. Sheets of cloud glided over his tired skin, and with a groan he sat up to find himself totally naked in this new environment.

The feeling of being exposed did not sit well with Bui, and when he rose on shaky legs he took the soft sheet with him.

Opposite the bed was a window, and he walked to it over a hardwood floor glowing with polish. Rain streamed over the panes, making it impossible to see anything more than the vague green blur of foliage through the water-slick panes. A watery sort of light bled through the glass—was it dawn, or dusk? Bui couldn't be sure.

He turned around and surveyed his room, taking in the wide bed and rich furnishings. The door to the room was open, and Bui slowly walked toward it. Before he passed through, however, he noticed that a long table at the foot of his bed supported a small pile of clothing. Rifling through it, he found a pair of pants and a white button-down shirt that were big enough to fit him width-wise but not quite long enough to cover his legs or arms completely. He meandered into the hall after donning the clothes, feeling better now that his body was less exposed.

His room was at the end of a long hallway full of rooms similar to his, and at the end of it was a staircase—a grand one. It swept down in an elegant fall of steps carpeted in deep blue velvet, flanked on both sides by long wooden banisters. Hung with crystal and scintillating in the not-quite-light coming in from high windows was a massive chandelier suspended high above the stairs, and Bui gazed up at it for a long time. He didn't know that humans were capable of making such beauty.

"Oh, good, you're up," said a familiar voice. "How are you feeling?"

Startled, Bui looked to the bottom of the stairs. The blond-haired woman from the alley stared up at him, grinning from ear to ear. He saw, now that his head was clearer, that she looked less angelic that she had first seemed—her hair had a reddish tint and was not the original luminous, ethereal tint he had assumed.

Bui hesitated before replying: "I am feeling better. Thank you. But... where am I?"

"You're in my house," she told him, raising her arms in a 'here it is, enjoy' type gesture. "Are you hungry?"

Bui wanted to tell her that no, he most certainly was not hungry (or at least not hungry enough to accept whatever slop a human could provide for him), but his stomach chose that moment to rumble out a betrayal so loud it made the human woman's smile grow even wider.

"Let me get you something to eat, big guy," she said. Turning away, she said: "Follow me!"

Bui carefully descended the stairs and followed the woman through a nearly hidden door to the right of the bottom of the steps, and then through a small maze of hallways. Some hallways were incredibly nice, while others were bare and devoid of decoration. Eventually, though, they emerged into a massive kitchen full of industrial-size stainless steel cooking ware. Without a word the human woman began pulling pots and pans off of the hanging racks around the kitchen, and not too long later she presented Bui with a heaping platter of human foods he had no name for.

Despite not knowing the name for the mashed potatoes, chicken fried steak, fried mushrooms, and green beans the human set before him, Bui thought they smelled and looked unreasonably appetizing. Picking up the fork next to his plate, Bui made sure to keep the delicate silverware intact as he began to dig into his meal.

She sat next to him at the island, where Bui had parked himself on a metal bar stool. He tried not to let the human's close scrutiny distract him from his meal, a feat that was made less difficult by the meal's good flavor. Still, her intense stare and close proximity made the hair on the name of Bui's neck rise to attention despite the warm food and his full belly.

"I thought you'd have a good appetite," she remarked when Bui set aside his fork and leaned backward in his chair. "How did it taste?"

"Wonderful," Bui admitted without pause.

In response, she glowed with pleasure. "A warm meal works wonders on the tired."

"Tired?"

"You've been asleep for almost a day," she replied. "I was just coming up to check on you when you woke up, and I—" Her cheeks suddenly flushed a very pale shade of pink. "I wasn't the one to undress you, by the way!"

Bui almost—almost—smiled at her reaction.

"My butler, Eric, helped me get you into the bed upstairs," she continued, fidgeting. "You're really heavy, you know."

Bui looked down at his plate and the few crumbs speckling it. "I know."

She stood up, pushing herself away from the island. "I'm going to get myself some coffee," she said. "Want any?"

"No, thank you," said Bui.

It took her a minute to set the coffee to brewing, but Bui sat by patiently and waited. Once she had poured the dark liquid into a mug, she leaned on one elbow over her cup and stared at Bui with a wry smile. Fingers curled over her jaw, gripping it to hold up her head, and eyes so gray they were nearly the color of steel burned with warmth.

"So do you want to tell me how you wound up in the red light district in nothing but a hospital gown?" she asked suddenly, staring off into space.

The question's blunt nature startled Bui, and he found himself momentarily struck dumb. But then the human woman held up a hand and smiled into her cup of coffee.

"If you're not comfortable, that's fine," she said.

"It's not that," Bui said. "I'm just..."

He floundered, and she set down her mug.

"Do you have a place to go?"

He said nothing.

"Because I know how it feels to not have anywhere to go," she told him, "and you look like you feel that way."

There was no denying the sincerity in her eyes, so he said: "I am alone. I don't know where to go or what to do." The simple admission of that hard truth made him feel weary—he had nothing to live for, and the prospect of wandering without a purpose scared him more than any demon.

They sat in silence for a long time while the human sipped her coffee.

"You asked me a question," she said eventually, "back when I found you in the alley."

"I remember," said Bui.

"Do you still want an answer?"

He met her gaze. "Yes."

"Well, why do you _think_ I helped you?"

Bui, feeling uncomfortable beneath her scrutiny, looked away. "I don't know," he told her. "I... don't know." He met her eyes. "In my experience, help isn't given freely."

She didn't respond right away, instead opting to take a few quiet sips from her mug. When she did speak, however, her voice was thoughtful.

"You're right about that," she said. "I do suppose I will want some sort of payment from you."

Bui's chest constricted, but he fought the feeling of being both trapped and indebted as he rose to his feet. The human's eyes widened as she took in Bui's full height.

"I have no money," Bui said, voice cold and detached. "I have nothing to offer you but my gratitude."

"Now don't be like that!" said the human, jumping to her feet, too. She only reached Bui's chest, but an authority and single-minded intensity made Bui feel as if—oddly—she was not so weak as most humans and her height mattered little in figuring her level of power.

"I don't want your money!" She looked offended at the suggestion. "I was just wondering if you would—" She bit her lip, unsure of how to go on.

"Wondering if I would what?" asked Bui, staring down at her. He didn't know if he liked where she was going with this, but he felt a tremor of something—was it anticipation? Or was it fear?—worm its way into his stomach.

She looked up at him through surprisingly dark lashes, her eyes glimmers of quicksilver through the strands, and blushed. He thought, suddenly, that she was somewhat pretty (for a human, anyway). Her snub nose and heart-shaped face and wide almond shaped silver eyes worked well together, providing pleasing symmetry and proportion to her pale face.

"Well, since you admitted yourself you have nowhere to go, I was going to offer to let you stay here." Her face turned even more red. "Food, too, and maybe a paycheck."

"And you would pay me for doing what?" Bui asked.

"Well," said the human, and at this she met his eyes head-on and blurted: "I want you to model for me!"

* * *

NOTE

Thanks to all my reviewers. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and sorry for the wait in updates!


	3. Chapter 3

Mask

Chapter 3

Blinking in abject confusion, Bui looked down at the human woman and asked: "Model?"

She nodded, the blush in her cheeks fading from scarlet to rosy pink that brought out all of the different shades of blonde in her hair.

"I'm an artist," she explained. "I need someone to pose for a painting, and I can't think of a better model than you."

Bui couldn't understand why she thought that, however, for even on the Demon Plane artists tended to choose models based on physical beauty, and Bui's looks were far from the empyrean splendor he associated with painting subjects. What was the stupid human thinking? Was the Human World really so bereft of beauty that this woman had to turn to something of a different specie for inspiration?

She sighed, running her fingers through her hair. Her fingers tapered like the slender branches of an aspen tree, but her nails had been trimmed to the quick and were slightly discolored; they were delicate tools Bui could tell had seen much use but not much true stress. His own hands, conversely, bore enough scars and calluses to shame a farmer—who would ever want to paint things like those, things like his battered body and scarred face?

"I don't really think there's a way to explain why I need _you_, specifically, the way I do unless I show you," she said. She pushed her bar stool away from table and rose. "Would you mind following me?"

Bui did as she asked and allowed himself to be led through the maze of hallways once again. A feeling of familiarity stole over him as he recognized that they were going back the way they had come, and when they emerged into the huge chamber with the staircase and the chandelier he almost—almost—smiled in triumph. The woman promptly escorted him directly across the chamber to a set of wide French doors at the base of the staircase, and threw them open.

Bui wandered inside the dark chamber; he could not see much other than a long, empty hallway. But when the human flicked a switch beside the door and the room became bathed in illumination, Bui froze under the onslaught of color, emotion, and artistry.

The room, he found, was lined with paintings.

He wandered over to one. It depicted a child, a full-body portrait of a toddler in a pair of overalls seen slightly from above, and his hands and face and hair were caked with mud. Although the child did not smile, something about the way he carried himself over a plain of lush grass pockmarked by small muddy holes made Bui think of the joyousness one could only experience in childhood. The angle gave the illusion you were really standing over the dirty boy, as if you had happened upon him by accident and startled him into staring.

He moved to the next picture. A dog, yawning. You could feel the sleep in the lines of its straining jaw, and you longed to retire with it to the bed of rags it had made its home.

The next, a still life of flowers. You could almost smell them; indeed, Bui strained to before he remembered that they were merely painted figures.

He wandered the gallery for a long time, taking time to observe each and every piece. He could find no theme among them, merely an essence of peace and tranquility that pervaded the subjects and their execution. Even an image that depicted death—an elderly woman holding the hand of a bedridden man one could only assume was her husband from the love burning in her eyes—glowed with timeliness and acceptance. Bui couldn't wrap his head around it. How could these mundane subjects…_ shine_ so much?

"You… painted all of these?" Bui asked.

The human, who had not yet moved from her place at the gallery doorway, said: "Yup. They're all mine."

The paintings, Bui noticed, were arranged according to canvas size. The paintings nearest the door were the smallest—miniscule postcards of pocket watches, flower buds, and birds—and the canvases grew bigger as they progressed toward the back of the gallery. Grand pianos and statues and groups of people filled the back—even a full-sized picture of a beaten up truck graced the walls—but on the extreme back wall of the gallery…

"Why is this one blank?" Bui asked, looking at the twelve-by-fifteen canvas hanging bare on the back wall. It filled almost the entire space and it was obviously meant to be the centerpiece of the gallery… so why was it the only one without a subject?

"It's blank because I hadn't found you yet," the human said, coming to stand at Bui's elbow. She smiled up at him when he turned to look at her, and she gestured at the canvas. "Can't you see why you're perfect, now?"

"No," said Bui.

"Did you notice anything about my paintings?" she asked.

He thought about it and came up with nothing other than the pervading sense of peace, the shine of color, the warmth and happiness...

"No," he said.

"I paint things to size," she said. "I won't paint a close-up of a baby on a twenty foot canvas—not unless the background is extensive, anyway—and I wanted my centerpiece to be full of one subject. A human subject, something with emotion and life, not an object like a truck or a piano. So, you. You're big enough to fill that canvas without help."

Bui wanted to tell her that she was wrong in so many ways—he wasn't even the 'human' subject she thought he was, and as for emotion? He barely felt like living, let alone feeling the exquisite range of passions the human's subjects possessed. Looking at these paintings was the closest he had come to feeling engaged since he had woken up in that hospital. The only thing she had gotten right was his size—he could definitely fill that canvas for her, but it would be a painting filled with death and despair that would make a mockery of her gallery. He could not defile the sanctity of her other work with his presence.

"I'm not the one you want," Bui said, turning and heading for the door. He didn't want to be here anymore—or, rather, he wanted to be here too much.

"Wait!" she said, running after him. She took his elbow in her small hands and held on tight. "Please, hear me out!"

Bui stopped walking. Looked down at her pleading silver eyes and cornsilk hair and felt himself open to her. She had touched him so willingly, begged him to stay.

He had always been a follower. It felt strange to be wanted. To be followed.

"All right," he said.

She released him, stepped back, and ran her fingers through her hair.

"Do you mind if I'm blunt?"

"I don't mind."

She stared up at him for a moment that felt like ten eternities.

"It's not just about size. I see so much in you," she said. "You have such a story to tell. I can feel it. I just… I just want to bring out your true face."

"And why would you think this isn't my true face?" Bui asked.

She snorted, not like a lady at all. With such a handsome face and regal bearing, the action seemed unreasonably comical.

"You act stoic and calm, but last night when I helped you I saw the desperation in your eyes. You need something. I don't know what that something is yet, but you need it so badly you can hardly stand it. The look you wore when you asked why I helped you, why I cared…" She shook her head. "You weren't wearing your mask, then. I could see what you're hiding. The mask is back up right now."

Bui couldn't take his eyes off her.

"What else did you see?" he asked. "What else did you see beneath that mask?"

She met his eyes as boldly as could be.

"Hope," she said, and Bui's demonic heart that never truly beat almost moved of its own accord. "I saw rawness and open, bleeding wounds, but I saw hope."

She turned away from him, then, and walked to the empty canvas, her blank centerpiece, the unfinished soul of her gallery.

"I have worked for two years on this gallery," she said, caressing the pure linen with her fingertips. "In two months I have an exhibit at the most renowned studio in this city, but I can't show my face unless this piece is finished." She looked at him over her shoulder, blonde hair shining in the light of the spotlight that had been mounted above the blank canvas. High cheekbones accentuated her almond eyes and pretty lips; she wore no makeup, but her lashes were long and full. "I'm going to offer you a place to stay and food to eat and a paycheck for the time you sit for me. You told me yourself you have nowhere to go. I'm offering a place, at least for the next two months. I don't expect anything from you other than your face and your body and your willingness to sit still for me. You don't have to tell me where you came from or where you want to go next." She looked back at the canvas. "You don't have to accept my offer, but I'd like it if you would. For both our sakes."

Bui stood very, very still for a long time. He had nowhere to go, nothing to do, no purpose or strength left to defend himself with. His spirit energy still remained locked up within the cage of his own body, unusable and out of reach.

What was he to do? His purposelessness could not be tolerated. His lack of strength he could not abide. Death seemed to be the only way out, but…

What was two paltry months in the grand scheme of things? He had lived a thousand years—two more months were nothing. He would play her game, be her model, live in her home for two months, but not a day more. After that, he would let death take him if death wished to.

"All right," he murmured. "It is a deal."

The smile that leapt onto her face nearly set his heart to beating again.

"Really?!" she asked, voice squealing in excitement. "This is so great! Thank you so much!" Her eyes flew oceans away in the span of a second, and she started looking at Bui and then looking at the canvas so quickly it was a wonder she did not give herself whiplash. "I'm going to have to call Eric to get me more paint, and—"

Bui listened to her ramble on about paints and brushes for a time, letting her creative energy run its course. Finally she stopped, wild-eyed and out of breath, and moved to stare up at Bui with an expression of utter gratitude painted on her features. He almost wanted to back up a step, her eyes burned so brightly, but he resisted the urge and stood his ground.

"Thank you," the human woman whispered. "Thank you."

Bui did not smile, but he allowed his eyes to soften for her benefit.

"You're welcome," he replied.

"Can I ask for your name? I know I said I wouldn't ask questions, but if you don't tell me then I'll make something up and I can't guarantee that you'll like it."

Bui stared down at her for a moment. What harm could it do?

"Bui," he said.

"Bui," she repeated, tasting the foreign sound. "Bui. It suits you."

"And your name?" he asked.

Her eyes shone like silver coins.

"Lena. I'm Lena. It's nice to meet you, Bui."

AUTHOR'S NOTE

This is a very subdued story, I have noticed. But I like it a lot—very much a lot.

Couldn't decide between the names "Lena" and "Ananda" for my OC—which do you prefer? I might change her name if I get enough "Ananda" votes.

Thanks to all my reviewers, and, please, my readers, drop me a review and let me know what you think of my story. Thanks!


	4. Chapter 4

Mask

Chapter 04

* * *

They stared at one another for a moment before Lena dropped her eyes to the floor. Bui let his gaze wander over her flaxen hair for a moment, tracing the line of it as it fell over her shoulder and tumbled to her breasts. A pretty woman, he decided once and for all. Not beautiful, but... pretty.

Lena looked up at him and attempted a smile, but this one seemed... nervous. As if getting her way had sapped her of her drive and intent. But Bui, nevertheless, appreciated her smile.

Very few had ever had reason to smile at him.

"Well," the human woman said suddenly, "I need to run an errand. I'm running low on charcoal and I'll need that to sketch you."

It took Bui a moment to connect charcoal to sketching, and then it took him another moment to connect sketching to himself. The thought of being a model—not a fighter but a means of artistic expression—was so foreign to him that he could hardly wrap his head around the fact.

"Would you like to go back to your room while I'm gone?" Lena asked. Her silver eyes flickered all over the room, looking at everything but Bui. Her pale brow furrowed. "I really didn't think this arrangement through, did I?"

Bui, for one horrifying moment, thought that Lena was about to tell him that the arrangement wouldn't work at all, actually, and could you please leave? But then his horror shifted to the fact that the thought of leaving—of getting lost in the human world without a place to go or a friend to his name—had terrified him so much. Bui didn't feel fear; at least, not unless he was facing Toguro or someone of comparable ferocity.

But Lena wasn't banishing him. "What are you going to do when I'm not painting you?" she worried.

Her concern would have made him smile if he had been that type. "I'll find something," Bui said, and Lena looked up at his face.

"I keep forgetting just how deep your voice is," she said. "It's pretty."

Bui blinked at her.

"What?" she asked, shifting nervously beneath his stare. "Ah, never mind. Let's get out of here." She ushered Bui out of the gallery—he didn't want to go, not really, but he let the human shoo him away anyway—and then she turned out the light, dropping all of her luminous creations into inky black. She began to climb the huge staircase to some unknown destination and Bui, unsure of what to do, followed her. She looked back over her shoulder, once, and when she saw him behind her she quickly looked away.

"I'll be back as quick as I can," she said above the sound of their feet hitting the carpet, "so just roam around and get to know the house, or go back to your room if you want, and if you need anything you can call the number 3-2-1 from any of the house phones; there's a phone in your room and in the kitchen. That'll connect you to Eric."

"Eric?" Bui asked.

"He's my butler. He can get you just about anything; a great guy, one of my best friends."

They reached the top landing and, summarily, a long hallway lined with rooms that Bui recognized as the one his bedroom resided in. Lena marched to the end of the hall, passing many closed doors and the one open door that led to Bui's quarters. She stopped at the hall's far end before a set of double doors made out of dark wood.

"This is my room," Lena said, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she pushed inside. Wood whispered softly over the midnight blue carpet. "I'm just going to grab my purse and my coat and be on my way, so wait here and..." She paused, looking Bui up and down. "Scratch that, I'll call Eric for you. He can show you around. Newcomers tend to get lost in here." Then she vanished into the gloom beyond the doors.

Bui did not wish to overstep Lena's line of privacy, so he did not follow her into the room. He did, however, peer with all his might inside, and he strained his ears for any sound of activity. Her voice floated over the air like dandelion seed a moment later, effervescent and soft: "Hey Eric, it's me. Our friend woke up; would you mind coming to my room and showing him around? Also, do you think you could call Madeleine for me? You're a doll." A clack of plastic on plastic echoed in the dark, and after a rustle of cloth and a jingle of metal Lena reemerged. She had put a denim jacket over her plain white t-shirt and bluejeans and she carried a pair of worn tennis shoes in her hand. A plain black purse with a chain for a strap hung from the crook of her elbow.

"Well, um, let's go downstairs. Eric will be here in a minute."

Bui did not answer, but he did stand aside to let her pass and take the lead. Her eyes flickered up to his face before she looked down the hallway; Bui could sense in the air surrounding her that she was a bit intimidated by his close proximity. Most people were; he was just so tall. But the change in her was an odd one, Bui thought. One minute she was insistent and cheerful and the next she was as timid as a rabbit.

He caught a whiff of her perfume as she passed: a dark aroma that was rich and spicy, overlapped by a light, cool fragrance that reminded him of winter. Below them both hovered tartness and sweetness that existed as one single scent, and the three separate veins merged into a pleasing harmony of contrast and coordination. He liked the scent, even if he couldn't name what any of it actually was.

The hallway passed in a blur of color; Bui's eyes stayed fixed on Lena's back. "Eric?" the woman called as the rounded the corner and stood atop the flight of stairs. "Oh, good, you're here already."

A tall man with a head of balding gray hair stood in the foyer, arms hanging at his sides. He wore a black suit over a crisp white shirt and shoes that gleamed like black mirrors. A mustache that probably had more hair in it than his entire head made his lean, long face seem almost comical until you looked at his piercing blue eyes and strong jaw. He was a man of unyielding character; that much Bui could tell from a single glance at his straight back and meticulous appearance, and those eyes were the eyes of a man who take a bullet for a person who he cared about.

Bui was certain that that person was Lena from the way Eric's eyes followed her progress down the stairs.

"Hello, Eric," Lena said, voice inflecting warmth.

"Good day, Ms. Haugh," Eric replied. His voice was a deep one despite his slenderness, although it was not worth comparison to Bui's. "I phoned Madeleine. Is this afternoon at four acceptable?"

"I'll try to be back by then," Lena—Lena Haugh, Bui thought, mulling over her name—said. "If I'm not, please start without me."

"Of course." Eric turned his attention to Bui. "Introductions, Ms. Haugh."

"Oh!" She smiled sheepishly at Bui. "If he weren't here my head wouldn't sit straight. Eric, this is Bui when he's conscious. Bui, this is my butler and very dear friend, Eric Rohlfing."

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr..." He trailed off, obviously fishing for a last name, but Bui simply stared at him. The trio languished in a silence that was uneasy in Lena's case, expectant and suspicious in Eric's, and tightly guarded in Bui's. Bui had never had a last name, nor had he ever had a family or a father's whose name he could take as his own.

Or did he?

"My name is Bui," he said, and he paused for a long time before saying: "Toguro. My name is Bui Toguro."

* * *

Author's Note:

Sorry for the short chapter after such a long hiatus, but I honestly just needed to get out of my funk by any means possible. This was how I did it.

On Lena's Name: 'Haugh' is pronounced 'Howg.' She probably gets it misread as 'Hog' a lot, though.

A bit more info on both Bui's and Lena's pasts will appear in the next chapter, as will a cameo by Graphospasm's OC Madeleine, as seen in the story 'Stripped.'


End file.
